


Slut

by Merayi



Category: Original Work
Genre: Betrayal, Femininity, Jealousy, LGBT Themes, Mild Language, Old Friends, Slut Shaming, Women's Rights, poem
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-04-03
Updated: 2018-04-03
Packaged: 2019-04-17 19:50:01
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 748
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/14196456
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Merayi/pseuds/Merayi
Summary: This is a poem I wrote to help me process a pretty awful falling-out with an old friend.Content Warning: Pretty Strong Language and Allusions to Sexual Violence





	Slut

You call me a ‘slut’, and all I hear is ‘I don’t like the way you have sex’, which is fine with me coz last time I checked, you weren’t my pimp. 'Slut' isn't an insult. 'Woman' isn't a weakness. ‘Femininity’ is something you reject, but in doing so, you reject me. 

Don’t wear make-up; who are you trying to impress? Don’t wear heels; you can’t run away when someone attacks you. Don’t wear stockings; you look like a slut. Don’t wear skirts so short; you’re attracting the wrong kind of attention. Don’t go out; someone will rape you, because you are a woman, and you are weak. Why would you sign up to be a damsel in distress? 

Don’t. Don’t. Don’t. Don’t. Don’t. 

Don’t try to delude yourself that you’re better than me because you listen to your paranoia. Don’t try to delude yourself that you are untouchable because you honestly believe that if someone hurts me, it’s my fault for being comfortable in my skin and my sexuality. Don’t try to delude yourself that you’re self-righteous when what you really are is jealous. 

You call yourself a feminist, like me, but you judge without pity. You condemn all things feminine, and say that I can’t be witty if I’m pretty. Being a tough girl is the only kind of girl you can be. You don’t need no man, not like me. Be a Knight, not a Princess. 

Whatever I do, if it's not like you, you will tell me it is wrong. 

You called me a ‘slut’ because I fell in love, and she is the only one I have ever made love to. That is the least slutty thing I could do! You would never admit it, but jealousy has changed you. It’s turned you into someone I don’t know. 

You were my friend. Remember? The confidence that for years you helped me dig up from the dirt that had clogged my soul you spent an hour trying to bury again under insults disguised as protection. But, when I let anyone else take that confidence away, it’s ‘irritating’. A minor inconvenience for a friend who’s stopped caring that the pain I carried hurt for years. 

I had it coming. I should have guessed she’d hurt me. Why open yourself to sorrow when emptiness is so much easier than risking everything for joy? Why fall in love when love doesn’t exist, relationships are doomed to failure, and I will be hurt again? If that’s the way you think, why risk owning a cat? Cats don’t have nine lives. One day before you, Domino will die, and I would have been there when you cried. 

If you hadn’t told me that loving made me a slut. 

All those nights you patted my back when my soul leaked out my eyes, was I irritating then? All those nights that I dried the tears that no one but me has ever seen, was I irritating then? You have been there in the moments when I have been on the edge, and you have kept me on solid ground when I wanted to fall. You were there to keep me believing in goodness when all I saw was darkness. You kept me hoping. You gave me a safe place to be myself. 

Now, you want me to believe that darkness is all I can wish for, that hope is a lie, that safety is a joke, that I myself am a disappointment because I am a slut. Did you have to prove yourself right that trusting hurts you by hurting the person you loved as a sister? I refuse to believe you. The trust in goodness keeps me going, and you will not take that away from me. 

When did being there for me become a chore? When did you start thinking of me as little more than  
a whore? When did friendship become a vessel that only the self-righteous could steer without compromise? When did we lose our respect for each other? When were the holes torn in this friendship? Why am I floundering at sea before I even realized we were sinking? 

But, I refuse to drown. The title of ‘slut’ won’t weight me down. 'Slut' isn't an insult. 'Woman' isn't a weakness. Trusting, being hurt, learning, and trusting again doesn’t make me a damsel in distress. Even if you aren’t there to proofread it, I’ll write my own fairytale about a Princess who will never stop loving.


End file.
